


1979

by hourly



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Band Fic, Fluff, Jisung writes, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hourly/pseuds/hourly
Summary: No matter how many stories Jisung writes, no matter the universe, no matter the plot, Na Jaemin always somehow manages to find his way into them.





	1979

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song 1979 by the smashing pumpkins
> 
> thanks to my lovely beta [vera](https://twitter.com/renjunboy)

 

 

No matter how many stories Jisung writes, no matter the universe, no matter the plot, Na Jaemin always somehow manages to find his way into them.

 

Sometimes it’s in the form of an overly flirtatious waiter at the local diner, dropping the same sickly sweet pickup lines Jisung heard Jaemin using the other day. Sometimes the descriptions of the main character sound so much like Jaemin that when Jisung’s editing he finds that he’s dressed his character down in the same get-up Jaemin had been wearing that day. Sometimes it’s in details as small as giving his character an all too familiar flirty smile.

 

At first, Jisung had denied it. Denial then became ‘write what you know’, and god, does Jisung know Jaemin. (Chenle swears that it’s  _all_ Jisung knows). Eventually, Jisung was forced to admit it.

 

He writes Jaemin because he’s always at the back of his mind. He sees him on the big screen in the cinema when he’s watching some western romcom; he hears him whenever he focuses on the rhythm of a guitar in the back of a song.

 

He writes Jaemin because he’s easy to write, because he’s everything Jisung knows, or at least thinks he does.

 

And, he writes Jaemin because he can. He can write him in a thousand stories, a thousand universes, a thousand different situations, bend his character a thousand ways, but there will always be that one small detail that just screams ‘Jaemin’.

 

He could write Jaemin like a late 70s bad-boy.

 

(Jaemin sits on the hood of his father’s fastest car in the school parking lot. His friends lean against the doors, one of them making out with the captain of the cheerleading squad, another trying his best to light a cigarette (Jisung can tell he’s never used a lighter before - he furrows his eyebrows so much in concentration that he’s probably permanently wrinkled the skin there), the other slicking back his hair with thick, black grease. Jaemin chews on some bright pink bubblegum, smacking his wet lips together as he tosses it around. Jisung rides past on his skateboard, his oversized faded flannel shirt fluttering behind him in the wind. And yeah, maybe it’s kind of sunny, and Jaemin’s hair which is usually an autumn brown is now golden and silky, and yeah, maybe Jisung’s mesmerised.

 

If this was a cliche western romcom, then maybe Jisung would be so distracted by Jaemin that he would crash into the group of boys walking in front of him, but this is Jisung’s mind: he can do whatever he wants. So, he makes Jaemin look at him. They lock eyes, and they both feel  _something_ and time slows, and maybe Jaemin blows a bubble, and when it pops Jisung thinks that perhaps this will all be over because why would someone like Jaemin look at him? And when the bubble does pop and he’s still looking, Jisung’s heart beats a bit faster because holy shit maybe he has a chance- )

 

Or, he could write Jaemin as a nurse, because that’s what he’s always said he’s going to be in the future.

 

(Perhaps Jisung broke an arm skateboarding, or stapled his fingers together like he did in third grade. Perhaps he got into a fight and has a slight concussion (because maybe that would be cooler). And maybe it just so happens that Jaemin is the nurse that attends to him, with kind eyes and even kinder hands. He’s dressed in scrubs and on anyone else it should be ugly, but it’s Jaemin, and Jisung doesn’t think ‘ugly’ is in his vocabulary. And sometime during the check up, Jisung’s concussion starts getting to him and his mouth starts hanging a bit loose and everything he’s ever thought of saying to Jaemin that he’s bottled up since the start of freshman year just spills out, and maybe it’s Jaemin that blushes, not Jisung, and maybe it’s Jaemin that struggles for words, and just maybe he says- )

 

In every version of Jisung’s fantasies, Jaemin looks at him and only him. Each time it makes him feel alive, makes his heart beat skip so many beats that he should be dead, sends something tingly rushing through his veins. In every version of Jisung’s fantasies, he has a chance.

 

But they’re only fantasies.

 

Jaemin doesn’t look Jisung’s way, because the truth is that Jisung is unremarkable: Jisung is a sophomore, Jaemin is a senior; Jisung break dances in his room at one in the morning while his best friend records him on his phone, Jaemin’s in a band; Jisung doesn’t study, Jaemin doesn’t study either (they have that in common), but somehow Jaemin still gets the best grades.

 

The only thing Jisung’s fantasies don’t get wrong, is that Jaemin is everything remarkable. He is beautiful: his smile is so wide and bright that even if you don’t want to be, you’re drawn in. He is kind: Jisung’s seen the instagram photos of him volunteering at bake sales, at the local community centre, with the city orphanage. He is so unbelievably talented: he waxes lyrical from his guitar, and when he sings, the crowd falls head over heels.

 

Wild is a word that Jisung uses a lot when he thinks about Jaemin. Wild is the way the crowd screams and cheers when Jaemin pokes a cheeky tongue at them during his guitar solos. Wild is the way Jaemin runs through the halls after his troublemaker friends, laughing and hollering but the hall monitors don’t say anything because it’s all in good fun. Wild is the trail Jaemin leaves behind as he blazes through life, leaving countless broken hearts in his wake and filling even more with hope. Wild is the way Jaemin makes Jisung feel, his heart beating so fast and hard that sometimes he fears it will burst through his chest.

 

But Jisung’s just one of the many hopeful hearts, which is why he keeps everything a fantasy, why he holds his tongue and lets nothing slip. He’s just like everyone else that pines after Jaemin, wants after his kind smiles and even kinder heart. Just like everyone else. Just as unremarkable.

 

 

 

 

It’s ritual after classes end for Chenle and Jisung to hang out at the diner by school. Sometimes they eat, other times they just order milkshakes, but most of the time they order nothing and choose instead to just talk or gossip or do homework. Normally it’s quiet and they can grab a booth by the back and not see a single person for the two hours they’re there - but that’s normally.

  
Every two or three months, the diner hosts a bands night. Bands from all over town perform; bands with a range of ages and a range of genres. Jisung doesn’t care about them, however. He cares about Jaemin’s band. And so does half of the school population as well, apparently, for the diner is full to the brim. Students mill around, some not having found a table and so instead walk between the tables or loiter by the counter.

 

There’s a dance floor at the back of the diner in front of the stage where more students crowd, vying to get as close to the stage as they can. Back in the day, there used to be a jukebox and people would dance there, but for the most part, the floor goes unused and in the day-to-day, it’s filled with extra tables and chairs.

 

(In the 70s, the jukebox isn’t broken. It lights up in colours of red, yellow, and green, and Jisung  _swears_ he saw it glow purple and blue once, but nobody believes him when he tells them. Every minute it’s being fed quarters, and as the tell-tale clink of them hitting the bottom sounds through the diner Jisung grows excited, because he doesn’t know what’s going to play next.

 

Jisung sits in a booth towards the back, perhaps with a friend, perhaps with the company of his homework. That’s how he spends the time between school ending and his mother coming home, because empty houses are lonely, and he’d rather fill that void with bad alternative music and strawberry milkshakes and pretty boys dressed in leather who’ll only break his heart given the chance.

 

It’s not hard to tell when they walk in because Jisung can’t hear the music anymore and Jaemin’s tell-tale laugh rings through the place. Jisung doesn’t look up, but he feels the eyes on him (or what he tells himself are eyes, and if he wants it to be eyes, then let’s make it eyes). If the milkshake wasn’t chilly enough then now he’s got goosebumps. But, this time, Jisung doesn’t look up. He continues pressing buttons on his calculator and pretends to know what he’s doing while his heart is doing backflips and a thousand possible conversations run through his head. It’s unhealthy, Jisung thinks, to imagine and to fantasise so vividly, but that doesn’t stop him from putting in quarter after quarter and imagining -

 

Jisung looks up and Jaemin’s staring at him, sucking a chocolate milkshake through his straw. Jisung quickly looks back down at his homework and smiles and when he looks back up, Jaemin’s looking away.

 

He puts in another quarter and imagines -

 

Jisung looks up and Jaemin’s staring at him and perhaps this time Jisung finds the courage to stand up and walk on over but he chickens out halfway and runs on over to the jukebox. He searches his pockets for a quarter only to come up empty, and there’s a queue behind him, so he steps to the side and when he looks up Jaemin’s watching him with a fond expression, mouthing ‘cute’ around the straw in his mouth.

 

He puts in another quarter and imagines -

 

That he’s not alone. Jaemin’s there but Jisung still has his homework out on the table, and Jaemin’s watching him fumble over numbers and bumble over words but he doesn’t make a move to help. He simply sits and slurps up his milkshake with his foxy smile and sly eyes and tells Jisung how  _sweet_ and how  _cute_ he is, and Jisung huffs because “there’s nothing cute about failing algebra”, and maybe Jaemin relents and leans over to help, and- )

 

Jisung feels something cold splatter on his face. He reaches up and dabs lightly at his forehead, only to feel chocolate milkshake. He scowls.

 

“What the hell, Chenle?”

  
  
“You were daydreaming,” Chenle rolls his eyes. “One day you’ll dream so hard you won’t wake up, and god knows what’ll happen.”

  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with thinking,” Jisung says as he wipes down his face with a serviette.

  
  
“There is when you think more than you live. You can’t replace people with thoughts, Sung.” Chenle tells him, taking a pointed sip of his milkshake. Jisung wants to tip it over.

  
  
Before he can do anything or say anything, a howl of feedback sounds through the diner. Cringing, Jisung directs his attention to the stage where he sees someone who he recognises as Donghyuck - the lead vocalist of Jaemin’s band - fiddling with a microphone.

  
  
The diner falls silent as all eyes focus on the stage. The rest of the band file onto the stage to stand behind Donghyuck. There’s Jeno, the drummer, and if Jisung hadn’t fallen irrevocably in love with Jaemin then he’d have gone for Jeno with his sunshine smile and arms long since muscled from years of drumming. On the rhythm guitar there’s Renjun with his long shaggy hair and seemingly quiet disposition: Chenle had divulged that he’s from China, like him, and Jisung chances a guess that’s probably why he veers on the quieter side.

  
  
Finally, there’s Jaemin on the lead guitar, with excitement in his eyes and danger in his smile. Now, Jisung could say a lot more. He could talk until his breath turns to air, write about it until the ink bleeds into the paper and the words are unrecognisable, but he thinks that this time, he’ll let Jaemin do all the talking.

 

Besides, when Jisung said ‘finally’ he did kinda lie: there’s one band member missing.

  
  
“Where’s Mark?” Jisung asks and Chenle shrugs, equally as confused. Looking around the diner, at the dance floor where the crowd eagerly awaits Mark’s entrance, the confusion is palpable.

  
  
There should be Mark up there on stage with them. Mark, a year above them, a beast on the bass. Mark, who had formed the band as an excuse to get free milkshakes after every show.

  
  
Up on the stage Donghyuck taps the mic and leans forward.

  
  
“So, I guess you’re wondering where Mark is,” he starts and there’s a hum across the diner. “As you all know, he graduated last year, going on to do Music Engineering.” Around the diner, people cheer and clap, though Mark is nowhere to be found. “Unfortunately he’s too busy to join us this year, so Jaemin’s temporarily on bass.”

  
  
Jaemin winks at the crowd and all disappointment dissipates as they jeer. Jisung rolls his eyes, but warmth blossoms in his chest, and he can’t help but smile as he ducks and takes a sip of milkshake.

 

“Wow, Sung, did you hear that? Now you finally have something in common,” Chenle teases and Jisung pokes out his tongue.

 

Donghyuck doesn’t talk for much longer before they start playing, and though it isn’t the same without Mark, Jaemin’s bass playing is unexpectedly good and Jisung can’t help but be impressed.

 

“He’s good,” Jisung notes, focusing on the low drone of the bass in the background of the song he doesn’t recognise.

 

“Yeah, but you’re still better,” Chenle tells him. “You should join their band. Show them what they’re missing without Mark.”

 

Jisung snorts. “Why would they want a sophomore?”

 

“A sophomore that’s a badass on the bass? Of course they would. Don’t put yourself down like that.”

 

Jisung shrugs, seemingly nonchalant, but the compliment flutters inside of him, happy and content.

 

“Speaking of badass,” Jisung grins. “You should join on keyboard.”

 

Groaning, Chenle sips up the last of his milkshake. “I should have never shown you those pictures.”

 

“I still have them on my phone somewhere,” Jisung frowns, making a mental note to pick through his gallery later and dig them up. “But really. That way you can also join as a vocal.”

 

“They already have Renjun and Donghyuck.”

 

“Yeah, but they don’t have  _you_.”

 

Chenle rolls his eyes and before they know it, the set is ending and the diner is erupting in cheers and whistles. Jisung joins in, albeit more restrained: some of the students can go crazy, screeching at the top of their lungs. Had bands night been more frequent than every two months, they would have long since lost their voices.

 

“Thanks everyone!” Donghyuck laughs into the mic. “And if you guys know any bass players, then hit us up, because I think Jaemin’s missing lead guitar already.”

 

Chenle turns to Jisung.

 

Jisung scowls.

 

“No,” he shakes his head, pushing away the empty milkshake glass. He spares a look at the table make sure that it’s not dirty before getting up and shrugging on his coat.

 

Chenle looks unperturbed. If anything, the grin on his face grows more manic.

 

“Chenle, I swear to god.” Jisung swings his backpack onto his shoulders, shrugging it on tight. He wants to leave, but not without Chenle: he doesn’t trust him not to do or say anything that will leave Jisung either a) dead or, even worse, b) embarrassed.

 

“Sorry, Sungie,” Chenle says as he pushes in his chair and makes towards the stage where the band is packing up.

 

Jisung grits his teeth and follows after him, pushing through the crowd to make sure that he gets there before Chenle starts talking.

 

He sidles up to Chenle just as he taps Donghyuck on the shoulder. Donghyuck whips around and grins.

 

“Yes?” he asks, smiling, and Jisung wonders how he’d never noticed how pretty Donghyuck is. Now he can’t stop staring.

 

“I found your bass player,” Chenle tells him and Donghyuck looks Chenle up and down.

 

“You play bass?” Donghyuck asks, inquisitive.

 

Chenle laughs. “No!” He reaches behind him and pulls Jisung to the front. “Jisung does.”

 

Jisung holds up a hand. “I’m Jisung.”

 

“That’s Jisung,” Chenle nods.

 

“You play huh? Wanna audition?” Donghyuck asks and Jisung’s immediate response is no,  _no_ , absolutely not, but he looks over at Chenle who’s looking between them with an eager glint in his eyes.

 

“I’ll audition,” Jisung says and both Donghyuck and Chenle cheer. “But-” they both stop cheering, “-only if my friend can audition as well”.

 

Donghyuck cocks his head to the side. “We don’t have any other spots available.”

 

“Keyboard?” Jisung suggests. “And he’s an excellent vocalist. It could be a breath of fresh air.”

 

“And who exactly is this friend?” Chenle puts up his hand and Donghyuck huffs out an ‘oh?’. “Tell you what. Bands room at school, tomorrow lunch time. We’ll see what you’re made of.” And with that, Donghyuck walks off, leaving Jisung mystified and Chenle somewhere between terrified and annoyed.

 

“What the hell was that?” Chenle growls, dragging Jisung towards the exit.

 

“I don’t know, but let’s make the best of it.”

 

 

 

 

“I can’t do it,” Jisung says, staring at the door to the bands room.

 

It had taken fifteen minutes of persuasion to even get up here, and surprisingly, it wasn’t Chenle persuading Jisung, but the other way around. Now that he’s up here, though, the nerves are kicking in because he has no idea what to expect; he’s admired everyone standing on the other side of the door (Mark as well, of course) since he saw their first performance and the thought of performing in front of them - performing  _with_ them - has the butterflies in his stomach fluttering.

 

Chenle doesn’t look impressed. “You’re the one that dragged us up here,” he mumbles, unhappy.

 

“We told Donghyuck we’re coming. If we don’t, then we’ll never be able to show our faces around school again.”

 

“It’s just Donghyuck.”

 

Jisung can’t believe his ears. “It’s not  _‘just Donghyuck’_ , Lele. It’s Donghyuck Lee. Dude, he’s  _Donghyuck_.”

 

“Thank you,” a voice in front of them says and Jisung jumps, not expecting to see Donghyuck standing there with a smug grin on his face. “Now that we’ve established that I’m The Donghyuck-” Jisung swallows and averts his eyes. He can already feel his cheeks heating up. “-shall we come in?”

 

Donghyuck stands to the side to let Jisung and Chenle shuffle in. Once they’re in he closes the door behind them and presses his back against it, almost as if barricading them in. Jisung shivers: he doesn’t know if he should be scared or not.

 

“Ladies and Jeno, I present to you, our newest band members,” Donghyuck holds a hand out to gesture to Jisung and Chenle, who stand there bewildered.

 

“I thought this was an audition?” Chenle squeaks out and Donghyuck laughs.

 

“Sorry. We really need a bass.”

 

Yeah. Donghyuck’s  _definitely_ mischievous.

 

“ _But_ ,” Donghyuck continues, “if you’re not good enough, then we’ll just cut you.”

 

Donghyuck eyes Jisung as if saying ‘you better be good enough’. Jisung looks away and nods: what else can he say?

 

“So,” Donghyuck kicks off from the door and wraps an arm around Jisung and Chenle, pulling them into his side. “The tall one’s Jisung and the cute one’s Chenle. I’m Donghyuck.  _The_ Donghyuck-” Renjun coughs out a laugh and when Donghyuck’s face falls flat he only laughs harder, “and that ass over there is Renjun. He’s still getting to grips with the language, so go easy on him. Dude with the muscle arms is Jeno,” Jeno waves and flexes. Donghyuck quickly moves on. “And that’s Jaemin.”

 

Jisung gives him the most generic smile he can muster. God, he must look awkward right now.

 

“Now that that’s over,” Donghyuck releases them from his grip. “Let’s get started.”

 

“So. Any song suggestions?” Jeno asks as he takes a seat behind the drums.

 

Scrolling through his mental library, there’s one song that sticks out.

 

“How about 1979?” he suggests and the whole band barks out a laugh.

 

“What?” Chenle asks, wide-eyed as he looks between the giggling boys. “What am I missing.”

 

“Nothing much. It’s just,” Jaemin looks at Jisung with a wide smile, “1979 was the first song we performed together as a band.”

 

“Oh,” Chenle nods in understanding, but when Jaemin looks away he sticks his tongue out and mouths ‘of course  _you_ would know that’.

 

“It’s a good choice, but not very challenging for the bass,” Jaemin smiles. “Trying to get off easy?”

 

Chenle presses his face into his backpack to hide his smile while Donghyuck is less subtle, laughing so loudly that Jisung jumps.

 

“No! I just thought… well. I don’t know.”

 

“It’s ok. Any other songs?” Jaemin asks.

 

Chenle digs his face out of the bag and pipes up with, “Billie Jean?”

 

“Yes!” Donghyuck shouts, promptly throwing off his hoodie to display his Michael Jackson tshirt hidden underneath.

 

Jeno leans over to whisper in Jisung’s ear.

 

“He’s a big fan.”

 

Jisung nods. “I can tell.”

 

“Billie Jean, then,” Renjun nods, taking a seat by the amp. “Ready?” he turns to Jisung and Chenle. All Chenle has to do is step up to the mic, but Jisung realises that he hadn’t brought his bass guitar.

 

He’s going for a bass audition.  _How could he forget his guitar?_

 

The band, Chenle included, watch as Jisung freezes on the spot. Chenle notices his predicament and laughs unhelpfully.

 

“He didn’t bring his guitar. I thought something was missing when we were walking here.”

 

“You can borrow mine,” Jaemin says and Jisung shoots him a grateful look. “Give me a minute.” Jaemin drops his own guitar to open up the store cupboard. As he’s fumbling around with the lock, Chenle directs his attention to Renjun.

 

“Where in China are you from?” Chenle asks.

 

Renjun peers up from between his long bangs and eyes Chenle for a solid minute before a smile blooms on his face and he bursts out in Mandarin. Having spent enough time around Chenle, Jisung knows that Renjun hasn’t answered the question, but Chenle doesn’t mind: he’s probably glad to be with a fellow speaker.

 

Jaemin comes back out of the store cupboard with his bass. He hands it to Jisung.

 

“Treat her well,” he smiles.

 

“I will,” Jisung stutters out, rushing off to the other side of the room to set up.

 

Donghyuck sits out for the song, content to watch and evaluate as Chenle takes the role of lead singer. He’s nervous, Jisung can tell, but still manages to keep his composure well as he keeps his head up and grins each time Donghyuck passes him a glance. Jisung on the other hand can feel his fingers trembling, and has to take several small breaths to calm himself down. They haven’t even started yet, and he’s running high on adrenaline and anticipation.

 

Stealing a glance at Jaemin would be a mistake, Jisung thinks, so chooses instead to look at Donghyuck as they start the song, only to see the boy looking right back at him. He’s so pretty and his gaze is so intense that Jisung has to look away, opting instead to settle his focus on his fingers as they pluck and play.

 

The song goes smoothly, Jisung managing to play all of his parts accurately but with character. Chenle hits all of the notes, voice smooth and assured. When the song ends, Jisung has a huge smile on his face and his first instinct is to get up and engulf Chenle in a big hug but Donghyuck beats him to it.

 

“Your voice!” Donghyuck screeches. “Is amazing? I think I love you.”

  
Chenle giggles and crooks an eyebrow at Jisung over Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Thanks, I guess? So I’m guessing that was good?” Chenle asks and Donghyuck smiles, releasing Chenle from his death-grip as Jeno pries him off.

 

“I’d say so. Welcome to the band,” Jeno says, holding Donghyuck back behind him.

 

After they’re done talking about the logistical aspects of the band (practice dates, meetups, general jam sessions) they take to cleaning up. There are spiderwebs of leads and chords strewn about the room and Jisung has a headache just looking at them. But, the first point of call is Jaemin’s guitar, so he starts with that first. He doesn’t know what he can do to make up for Jaemin lending it to him, and if he broke it, then Jisung would probably end up just selling his soul.

 

While he’s unplugging it and sliding it into its case, Jeno comes up besides him.

 

“Jisung, right? So why’d you guys decide to join the band?” Jeno asks as everyone’s packing away. He can’t exactly take the drums home, so he just throws the sticks in his bag and is done. As he’s free, he takes to chatting as everyone’s busy milling about unplugging things and tidying up leads.

 

“It was about time Chenle showed the world what his voice can do,” Jisung answers, zipping up Jaemin’s guitar case. “And… well, I just like music.”

 

“I get you. Music is powerful,” Jaemin appears from behind them, picking up his bass. “Some songs just make you want to fall in love. You know the feeling?” Jaemin asks and Jisung nods but the truth is that he’s already in love, and every time he listens to a love song he only falls harder, imagining impossible things and mumbling along to lyrics that only echo the beating of his heart.

 

“And what song is that for you?” Jisung asks and Donghyuck groans.

 

“Don’t get him started on his favourite songs,” he whines. “He’ll never shut up.”

 

“He’s not exaggerating,” Renjun says between his conversation with Chenle. “He’ll talk until you fall asleep.”

 

Jisung shrugs. “I don’t mind.” Donghyuck throws his hands in the air and laughs.

 

“Wow. It’s like you’re  _made_ for Jaemin.”

 

Jisung tries to not let that get to his head too much, but when Jaemin gasps and throws an arm around his shoulders, tucking him into his side, it’s hard not to.

 

“You know, Jisung, I’m glad you asked. Say, have you ever listened to-”

 

Donghyuck cuts Jaemin off with a long, drawn out groan. Jaemin immediately shuts his mouth and turns to Jisung with a grin.

 

“I’ll just text it to you later,” he says. His smile fades when he faces Donghyuck. “Happy now?”

 

The two start bickering and Jisung watches with amusement as they go back and forth. There are a few moments where Jisung grows worried: Donghyuck looks as though he’s about to throw a punch and Jaemin rolls his eyes so hard that Jisung’s afraid they’ll get stuck at the back of his head.

 

But, Jisung knows, it’s all in good jest: Donghyuck’s holding back a grin and Jaemin whines with all too much exaggeration; they love each other too much to let something silly get between them.

 

“Are they at it again?” Jeno asks as he plops himself down next to Jisung. He hands Jisung a packet of gum in offering, and Jisung takes one, scrunching up the wrapper and throwing the gum in his mouth.

 

“Are they always like this?” Jisung asks and Jeno laughs.

 

“Yeah. So far Donghyuck’s winning 22-19, but I think Jaemin’ll get the upper hand soon,” he says, watching the two wrestle each other on the floor, features soft with fondness.

 

For a second, Jisung’s heart aches at the sight; heart aches as he watches Donghyuck and Jaemin wrestle; heart aches as he watches Jeno stare lovingly at the two. His heart aches, but then he realises that, now, he’s a part of this. And the ache eases and he’s smiling, full and bright and true.

 

 

 

 

When Jisung gets home that night he lays in bed and tries to sleep, but each conversation with Jaemin replays in his head, each look, each touch, each burst of laughter. Jisung doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep. His fingertips itch and curl for the touch of a pen, so he rolls out of bed and stumbles over to his desk, rubbing his tired eyes blearily.

 

He opens his desk drawer and pulls out his small notebook, worn from years of use and long since dog-eared as Jisung marks his favourite pages. He should really invest in a bookmark. Flipping to a clean page, Jisung immediately starts writing, uncaring how neat his characters are. The words spill from the tips of his fingers in waves, flooding from his mind like a tsunami. He writes until his fingers grow numb and his mind strains to find something else to put onto paper, until the tides fall back and he’s no longer drowning in thought and it’s easier to breathe.

 

His words speak of faded sunlight and milkshakes in a retro diner. They speak of falling in love, of falling  _while_ in love. They speak and speak and speak and before he knows it Jisung’s filled three, four, five pages. He drops the pen, fingers having burnt through more than they can handle. His mind feels at ease, tidal waves having calmed to a slow-trickling stream.

 

Jisung flicks off his light and crawls back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He closes his eyes, and with a clear mind, he can finally fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

“You never texted me your favourite songs,” Jisung tells Jaemin one day while they’re eating lunch. Chenle’s got his earphones in, studying for an upcoming test, and the bob of his head as he listens to music reminds Jisung of Jaemin’s promise.

 

“I don’t have your number,” Jaemin smiles. “But you can give it to me.”

 

Across the table, Renjun gags, putting his sandwich down as though he’s now lost his appetite.

 

Jisung forces his face to fall blank, which only has Jaemin laughing harder. Even so, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, handing it to Jaemin so that he can type in his number. Once he’s sure that Jaemin’s finished he holds out his hand for his phone back, but Jaemin doesn’t give it.

 

“What the hell, give,” Jisung kicks Jaemin under the table, and for a moment Jaemin falters, but then he’s leaning back and holding the phone out of reach. “Jaemin.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Jaemin rolls his eyes. He reaches into his own pocket and brings out his phone, unlocking it before sliding it over the table to Jisung.

 

Jisung looks down at it with confusion.

 

“What am I meant to do with this?”

 

“Instead of me texting you my favourite songs, let's make playlists of our favourite songs on each other’s phones,” Jaemin suggests, and Jisung can already see him working on it as he peers over the table. “That way I can listen on my way home.”

 

“That’s so cute,” Jeno coos from across the table. He tugs on Donghyuck’s jumper in attempt to draw his attention, but Donghyuck’s eyes remain focused on the food in front of him. “Hyuckie, let’s do that.”

 

Donghyuck nibbles on a carrot stick. “How about no?”

 

“Baby, please,” Jeno pleads and before Donghyuck can answer he’s taking Donghyuck’s phone from his pocket and unlocking it. Jisung turns to Jaemin and whispers,

 

“Are they dating?”

 

“Nah, they’re just soft for each other.”

 

“Jeno called him ‘baby’.”

 

Jaemin sniggers. “You don’t have to date someone to call them ‘baby’. You know, Sung, I think ‘baby’ suits you quite well.”

 

Jaemin calls him baby and fire erupts inside of him. He can feel it licking it’s way up his neck and cheeks, and he’s sure he’s now red. How can Jaemin just say that?

 

“It doesn’t,” Jisung protests, focusing on the playlists.

 

Jaemin giggles and kicks him under the table to draw his attention.

 

“It does, baby.”

 

Jisung doesn’t dignify him with a response.

 

“Are you done with your playlist yet? I want to listen before class. Baby.”

 

Groaning, Jisung presses the ‘save’ button and slides Jaemin’s phone across the table. He picks up his own and stands up, tugging on Chenle’s arm to drag him to their next lesson. Behind him he hears Jaemin’s teasing laugh, and he’s sure he won’t be able to get it out of his head for the next few days.

 

 

 

 

On the bus ride home, Jisung opens up the new playlist on his phone, appropriately titled “Jaems <3 Sungie” with a picture of Jaemin poking his tongue out. Jisung makes a note to change the name later.

 

(He’ll keep the picture.)

 

He quickly scrolls through the playlist and clucks his tongue, opening the messenger app.

 

Jisung: really??

Jaemin: oh i see you opened the playlist then

Jaemin: baby

Jisung: are these even your favourite songs

Jaemin: yeah

Jaemin: i mean, some of them

Jaemin: :P

 

Jisung goes back to the music player and clicks on the top song, titled ‘B-a-b-y’. Four minutes later the song changes to ‘Baby’. And by the time Jisung’s getting off the bus, another song called ‘Baby, my baby’ ends.

 

Maybe he kind of hates it. But as he looks down at the list of songs, at the picture, at the playlist name, it doesn’t stop a smile flowering on his face. 

 

 

 

 

Their first performance as a band goes smoothly. Though nervous, Jisung and Chenle both managed to perform their best and it ends up being one of the most memorable nights of their lives. Whenever Jisung closes his eyes he can picture the neon lights and the swaying crowd, can hear the thrum of his bass and the cheers as they complete a song, can smell the sweat and sickly scent of milkshake.

 

They mostly play covers, with the exception of a self-written song when a member puts one forth, and so whenever a song they played during their set comes up on shuffle, Jisung feels the adrenaline from that night shoot through his veins. He finds himself chasing the high, replaying that night over and over again, itching to play again.

 

Chenle feels the same. Jisung can tell. When he talks about singing he speaks more passionately, eyes lighting up, voice cracking, unable to contain all of the excitement.

 

The excitement, however, comes out in other ways.

 

Point in case: their next band meeting regarding their concept for the next set.

 

Evidence: Chenle’s bad ideas.

 

“Let’s go punk!” Chenle suggests, grinning to himself.

 

“Who are you calling punk, you punk?” Renjun frowns, sitting up. His hands curl into fists by his side and Donghyuck has to push him back down into his seat, mumbling that Renjun’s an “idiot, he meant the genre”.

 

“Chenle, we are not going punk,” Jisung says, setting his guitar down. He’ll refuse to play if they go punk. “You don’t even listen to punk. None of us listen to punk.”

 

Across the room Jaemin sits, face scrunched up in thought. “You know, Chenle, that’s not a bad idea. I think I have a punk song in my library.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Jisung mutters under his breath.

 

“Oh my God, and if we go punk-” Donghyuck sits up, eyes wide and frantic. “-then we can dye our hair a bunch of cool colours.”

 

“We could do that anyway,” Jeno frowns.

 

“Yeah but it’d make us more punk,” Donghyuck argues, and Renjun furrows his eyebrows and opens his mouth to protest, but then slams his jaw shut. Jisung admires his restraint. “So it looks like we’re all on board?”

 

Renjun sighs and takes an aggressive bite of his bread but eventually he nods, mouth too full of bread to answer. Donghyuck grins.

 

“Great. Now, about our hair-”

 

“I didn’t agree to this!” Jisung huffs, picking his bass off the floor and unplugging all the leads.

 

“Come on, Sung, you gotta live a little,” Jaemin says from across the room where he’s leaning against the wall with his guitar slung across his front. His smile is so lazy and yet so compelling that the little ball of annoyance that threatens to burst inside of Jisung unravels.

 

He zips up his guitar case and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

 

“We’re going to be such wannabes,” he says, but Jaemin only laughs pushes off the wall to come over and sling an arm around Jisung’s shoulders.

 

Jaemin leans down and whispers in his ear.

 

“Like I said, baby.  _Live_.”

 

 

 

 

(It’s the week before school breaks up and Na Jaemin rocks into school with freshly dyed beach blond hair. There’s a bright blue lollipop in his mouth and when he smiles and pokes his tongue out to tease everyone that gapes at him as he walks by, he flashes them with electric blue.

 

Of course, dyeing your hair is absolutely against the rules, and Jisung certainly doesn’t miss the empty desk in front of him in homeroom. But when he sees Jaemin at lunch sitting in the cafeteria atop his regular table with his leather jacket and blue lollipop and sandy hair, he can’t help but think that maybe all of the trouble is worth it.

 

And,  _god_ , if Jisung doesn’t want a part of it.) 

 

 

 

 

“Keep your eyes closed!” Donghyuck hisses as Jisung takes a peek. He feels Donghyuck smack his shoulder and he winces. He really didn’t see anything, just Donghyuck standing behind him with a bowl of blue dye in his hands.

 

“They are!” Jisung protests, groaning when he feels more fingers card through his hair. “How long is this going to take?”

 

“I’m almost done, quit whining,” Donghyuck chides and Jisung shuts his mouth. He knows how much Donghyuck likes his authority and though he wants to fight, he doesn’t know how well that’ll go down when Donghyuck’s holding the difference between him looking like sonic the hedgehog or like a rock star in his hands.

 

The room falls into silence and behind him he hears Donghyuck humming along to some alternative song, mumbling the english lyrics with little precision. It’s kind of cute, and Jisung can’t help but smile as he stumbles over the unfamiliar vowels and sounds.

 

“Are you laughing at me?” Donghyuck asks when Jisung sniggers a bit too loudly. Jisung shakes his head and Donghyuck groans. “You got dye all up my arm.”

 

“Your fault,” Jisung says and this time Donghyuck bites his tongue, continuing to slather the dye around Jisung’s roots so they can finally be done with it.

 

After a minute Donghyuck hums with satisfaction and Jisung hears him put the dye down.

 

“Now we just gotta wrap it and let it sit,” he says, and Jisung hears the crinkling of aluminium foil behind him.

 

Half an hour later and they’ve all got their hair foiled up and hidden underneath old towels. Donghyuck is the only one who isn’t antsy, and that’s because his hair is already dyed bright red. Somehow, it looks good on him.

 

When the suggestion to dye their hair came up, they ended up deciding on one colour per person, leaving them with a rainbow (minus Mark of course, rest in pieces). And Jisung, much to his chagrin, had been left with the colour blue after everyone else had already called dibs.

 

He was antsy before Donghyuck ripped the towel off his head to reveal his hair, and just downright upset afterwards.

 

“I look like a bottle of gatorade!” Jisung gasps. The colour is so bright that he has to look away for a moment. Donghyuck’s on the floor clutching his sides and it can’t even be called laughter so much as wheezing. Jisung growls and Donghyuck only laughs harder. “This isn’t funny, Lee Donghyuck!”

 

“Ooh, the full name,” Donghyuck says between wheezes and it only fuels Jisung’s annoyance.

 

“My mother is going to kill me,” Jisung sighs. “She’s actually going to murder me.”

 

“Now I’m scared,” Renjun groans from across the room, hand on the towel on his head, too afraid to take it off. “Donghyuck, what have you done.”

 

Donghyuck sits up, finally over his wheezing. He has the gall to look a bit offended. “My best,” he answers, but the offended look is wiped off his face as Renjun rips off the towel on his head, and suddenly he’s wheezing again.

 

“Donghyuck, I am going to murder you,” Renjun says, voice flat and face blank. Jisung can’t help the giggle that bubbles up: Renjun looks almost worse than Jisung. “I’m a highlighter! I look like a highlighter!”

 

Seeing Renjun’s predicament, Jeno, Chenle, and Jaemin take off their towels, too. Jeno’s hair isn’t too bad: the orange didn’t really work out to be too ‘orange’ and has left Jeno’s hair a warm brown instead. Poor Chenle’s hair isn’t even properly green, but instead looks like a faded dye job. At least he can probably redo it, the lucky guy.

 

And Jaemin. Though Jisung had wished for Jaemin to be the blond, had dreamt of sandy hair and sunkissed skin, the peach honestly wasn’t that bad.

 

“We don’t even look punk,” Jeno whines as he ruffles his hair. “We just look gay.”

 

“So I guess we’re not going punk, huh?” Chenle sighs and Jisung wonders how he doesn’t look on the verge of tears like poor Renjun, who’s currently bustling about the room in a huff, preparing the black dye.

 

Jeno nods. “Yeah, man, fuck punk. I never even liked it anyway.”

 

“I bet  _none_ of you even liked it,” Renjun says as he starts to the slather the dye onto his hair. “You all just wanted to dye your hair.”

 

Chenle grins and that’s all the confirmation Renjun needs before he’s flicking a glob of black dye over at Chenle, spitting scathing Mandarin. The dye catches Chenle’s jaw and his green hair, and poor Chenle, Jisung knows it’s going to stain. Chenle shrieks and lunges for Renjun, and from the corner of his eyes, Jisung can already see Renjun putting Chenle in a headlock so he turns around and continues scrutinising his hair in the mirror.

 

“I don’t actually mind this colour,” Jaemin says from besides Jisung. He’s tilting his head to the side and pulling various faces to get a good look at himself. Jisung looks at the soft pink and the way it reflects slightly on Jaemin’s cheeks and thinks that, yeah, he definitely doesn’t mind it either. “Let's take some pictures. I gotta send some to my mum. Who wants in?”

 

“I-” Donghyuck starts, but Jaemin tosses his phone in Donghyuck’s direction and Donghyuck scrambles to catch it.

 

“Hyuck, you photograph. Jisung, I think our colours compliment each other well, don’t you?” Jaemin asks as he tugs Jisung out of his chair and out to the balcony. Jisung can’t get a word in edgeways before Jaemin’s leaning against the balcony railing and sliding his jumper slightly off the shoulder for a more edgy look. Jisung follows suit, unsure what to do with his hands and his long, gangly body, so he chooses instead to watch Jaemin because that’s all that he  _is_ sure about.

 

They take so many pictures that Jisung fears for the storage on Jaemin’s phone, but “it’s an  _android_ , baby, I can just switch SD cards if I need to”.

 

Later on, when Jisung gets home, he arrives to a hundred messages on his phone, all from Jaemin. When he opens the messenger app he scrolls through to see all of the photos Donghyuck took of them and a message at the bottom.

 

Jaemin: this one’s my background now

Jaemin: [img]

Jaemin: change urs so we can match baby

Jisung: please stop calling me that

Jaemin: :(

 

Seeing Jaemin send the sad face has Jisung feeling instantly bad. He holds his phone to his chest so not to look at the screen but that doesn’t stop him feeling the vibrations as new messages come in.

 

Jaemin: ok

Jaemin: sung?

 

When Jisung doesn’t answer, Jaemin messages again.

 

Jaemin: i’m calling u

 

And, no, that’s the  _last_ thing Jisung wanted. He scrambles to text back. But before his fingers can even grace the keypad, his screen is flooding with Jaemin’s selfie as the call comes in. Ignoring the call would just make Jaemin (and Jisung) sad, so he presses ‘answer’ and puts the phone on speaker, throwing it across the bed. He knows if he keeps it too close he’ll end up accidentally ending the call before it’s time.

 

“You okay, Sung?” Jaemin asks in way of a greeting.

 

It’s a difficult question, because the answer is both yes and no; the problem is that Jisung is probably too okay. But he can’t say that. Jaemin wouldn’t understand, and Jisung’s explanation might scare him off. Might disgust him.

 

The best answer that he can give Jaemin at the moment is, “yes. I’m okay, sorry for not responding.”

 

Jaemin laughs. “Why are you apologising to me?” Jisung shrugs but then realises that Jaemin can’t see him. “It should be me apologising to you.”

 

“No,” Jisung frowns. “It’s-”

 

“Be honest with me, Sung. Please.” Jisung nods. Again, Jaemin can’t see him, but perhaps the silence is enough. “Does me calling you ‘baby’ make you uncomfortable? If it does, I’ll stop.”

 

The truth is, it does make him uncomfortable. It lights fires in him that he doesn’t know how to control. They blaze, wild and untamed, consuming him with warmth and comfort and security. They’re fires that will burn long after Jaemin’s gone, fires that he’s sure will blaze in the future at the memory of the nickname. It makes Jisung uncomfortable because it makes him feel too much.

 

It makes him feel like he has a chance, when he knows he obviously doesn’t.

 

Because, of course, you don’t have to be dating to call someone ‘baby’.

 

“It doesn’t. I was just joking around,” Jisung tells him and on the other end of the line, Jaemin hums, not quite believing him.

 

“Really?”

 

“I was. I…” Jisung buries his face in his blankets to brace himself for what he’s about to say. “I like it.”

 

Jaemin giggles. “You like what?” he presses, knowing full well what Jisung means.

 

“You just want to hear me say it.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Okay. I like it when you call me ‘baby’.”

 

Jaemin fully laughs this time. “Aw, baby, does it fluster you?”

 

Jisung reaches for his phone, holding it close so that the speaker is just by his lips. “I’m hanging up.”

 

“Wait!” Jaemin shouts just before Jisung can hang up. His once loud voice grows quieter and softer. “Night, Sungie.”

 

Jisung grins, squeezing his eyes shut at the rush of feeling flowing through him.

 

“Night, Jaemin.”

 

 

 

 

(In 1979 there are polaroids and every time they meet under the stars, Jaemin snaps a picture. He insists that Jisung keeps them and now the wall besides his bed is littered with a thousand pictures of them together, pulling faces, modelling, laughing.

 

One time, they meet on the school roof. The sun is up and it’s mid-July and Jaemin’s standing there with his polaroid and a shit-eating grin.

 

“My wall can’t fit anymore pictures,” Jisung groans but he walks towards Jaemin anyway. Jisung doesn’t mind about his wall. Not really. He’d fill his whole room if he had to.

 

“These ones aren’t for you,” Jaemin tells him. He motions for Jisung to sit against the brick wall besides the door, and when he does, Jaemin bends down and snaps a picture. The flash has Jisung jumping.

  
“Are you not getting in them?” he asks, and Jaemin shakes his head, messy blond hair falling over his eyes as he watches the picture print.

 

“Like I said, baby,” he plucks the picture from the camera and starts fanning it. He looks up and beams. “These ones aren’t for you.”)

 

 

 

 

“Are you happy?” Chenle asks one day as they’re eating lunch together on the field behind the school. 

 

  
They’re alone for the first time in a few weeks, with Donghyuck and Jeno off studying in the library for an upcoming test and Renjun and Jaemin busy with club activities. Maybe it’s mean, but Jisung can’t help but think that it’s nice that they’re alone: as much as he loves having a group, having new friends, it always used to be just Chenle and him alone against the world. And sometimes he misses that.

 

He misses not being overwhelmed, because when you’re constantly around so many people, it can get tiring. Chenle’s not quiet, that’s for sure, but Donghyuck is even louder, and sometimes Renjun can rival even him. Jeno’s a sweetheart but he’s energetic and sometimes Jisung wants to sit and take the backseat. And Jaemin. Loud, energetic Jaemin. Jaemin, who Jisung’s fallen so in love with, and falls even more in love with each passing day to the point that it’s started becoming too much. He’s now taken to carrying around his notebook to scribble in when the fires burn too bright.

  
  
But being part of something bigger than just him and Chenle, being part of something that he’d always just looked upon with envy, makes him happier. He wasn’t unhappy before - not entirely, at least - but there’s something about loving and being loved by so many people that has Jisung never wanting it to end.

  
  
“I’m happy,” Jisung concludes. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pack of gummies, ripping it open and holding it out to Chenle, who reaches in and takes a handful. “We should spend more time together, though. Just like this.”

  
  
“We should,” Chenle sighs. He leans backwards and falls against the pillow of grass, staring up at the sky.

  
  
Jisung chews on his gummies for a minute before tentatively asking, “are  _you_ happy?”

 

  
Chenle giggles and looks from the sky to Jisung, having to shield his eyes from the sun to see him properly. “Of course,” he says.

  
  
“That’s good,” Jisung replies.

  
  
“I guess.”

  
  
Jisung finishes up his gummies and then moves to lay down besides Chenle. “So, how about you come over to mine tonight?”

  
  
“Just us?”

  
  
“Just us.”

  
  
Chenle closes his eyes and smiles. “Sure.”

 

 

 

 

They’re about to go on stage for the first time in two months and Jisung’s excited.

 

He watches as Donghyuck runs about, checking that everyone knows what they’re playing and the order they’re playing it in. Renjun’s in the corner with his earphones on, mouthing lyrics, and Jisung wishes he was as relaxed as Renjun looks right now. While he’s excited, he’s also quite nervous. But he’s nowhere as nervous as Jaemin.

 

Perhaps it was because he’d been the last to join the band before Jisung and Chenle, but being on stage appears to make Jaemin nervous. Jisung hadn’t noticed it before he joined the band: Jaemin was always so bright and full of life on stage that he would never have even considered Jaemin having the pre-concert jitters. He’d noticed it before, back when they first performed together, but he brushed it off because he hadn’t seen the extent of it.

 

To the untrained eye, Jaemin doesn’t look particularly nervous, but to Jisung the change is tangible. He’s a lot quieter, has been since their last band session, and Jisung’s starting to miss his howling laughter and way he’d coo when Jisung walked into the room. He’s also biting his lips, and by the small scabs at the corner of his mouth, Jisung can tell the nerves have been there for a while: he’s been a member of the band for longer than Jisung has, has performed countless times, and yet he’s  _this_ worried? Something doesn’t sit right with him.

 

Jisung puts down his guitar and searches through his bag before walking over to Jaemin and taking a seat next to him.

 

“Vaseline?” Jaemin questions as Jisung hands him the small pot.

 

“You’re biting your lips. I don’t think girls go wild for chapped lips.”

 

Jaemin snorts and undoes the lid, dipping in a finger and slathering his lips.

 

Jisung hesitates but then asks, “are you nervous?”

 

Jaemin hands the vaseline back, rubbing his lips together.

 

“No.” Is his first answer, but when Jisung fixes him with an unimpressed look he relents. “Okay, yes. Kinda.”

 

Jisung reaches between them and places a reassuring hand on Jaemin’s knee, squeezing. Jaemin’s eyes flutter shut at his touch.

 

“You can talk about it if you want. But you’re a great player and everyone loves you, so-”

 

“It’s not that,” Jaemin shakes his head, his peachy hair falling over his eyes and obscuring them from Jisung’s view.

 

“Oh. Then-”

 

Donghyuck whistles across the room, drawing their attention. “We’re on in a minute, love-birds. Better get ready.”

 

Jaemin stands, looking down at Jisung. The dim light above glows through his hair and for a moment, Jisung thinks he looks like an angel.

 

“I’ll tell you later. I promise. Now, let’s go show them what we’re made of.”

 

He holds out a hand to Jisung. Jisung looks at it for a moment before accepting. He’s hauled to his feet, and Jaemin claps him on the back.

 

Jisung sucks in a deep breath.

 

“Let’s do this.”

 

 

 

 

(“You have very pretty lips, baby,” Jaemin tells him one day.

 

They’ve driven out of the city in Jaemin’s father’s car and have parked on the edge of a field of wheat. Jaemin hums along to the radio while Jisung burns through a book. The fuzzy sunlight blurs through the summer air and casts Jaemin in a golden glow. His skin is the colour of sunlight, his voice as warm and smooth; Jaemin is  _made_ of sunlight.

 

Jisung’s leaning back in the passenger seat, his hair fluttering in the wind. They have the top of the car down and the breeze seeps into their skin and hides beneath the folds of their clothes. Jisung scrunches his nose up and lets the book rest against his chest. He’s used to Jaemin’s flirting by now (at least his mind is; Jisung’s heart still skips a beat) so he rolls his eyes and tries not to let it affect him too much.

 

“That so?”

 

Jaemin hums, his body tilted to face Jisung. Jisung watches as Jaemin’s eyes rest on his lips, and Jisung instinctively pulls his lower lip into his mouth but it doesn’t avert Jaemin’s gaze. That foxy smile is back on his face as he reaches over to rummage through the glove box. He tosses aside a packet of tissues, a few music tapes, before eventually finding what he was looking for.

 

“Lollipops?” Jisung questions as Jaemin hands him a bright pink one.

 

Jaemin unwraps his own lollipop and sticks it in his mouth. He gives it a heavy suck before pulling it from his mouth. Jisung copies him and he doesn’t miss how Jaemin watches the drag of the lollipop from between his lips. He swallows and looks away.

 

“Yeah,” Jaemin says eventually. “Strawberry flavoured. Sweet, just like you.”)

 

 

 

 

The set ends and before the crowd has even finished cheering, Jaemin’s rushing across the stage and taking Jisung’s guitar strap off.

 

“What are you-?” Jisung tries but Jaemin’s clasping a hand around his wrist and tugging him backstage. Jisung looks over his shoulder as the stumbles along to see Chenle picking up his guitar with a miffed expression. He mouths a ‘sorry’ to him just as they disappear around the corner.

 

No words are exchanged as Jaemin drags Jisung out the back and to the car park, where he wastes no time getting in the car and starting up the engine. Jisung watches, helpless, as Jaemin buckles up his seatbelt, one hand on the wheel as he peers up at Jisung still standing outside.

 

“You coming?” he asks and Jisung sighs but gets in the car anyway, relaxing into the seat as if this isn’t completely weird and as if he didn’t just leave everything behind at the diner.

 

The sun has only just set by the time they’re pulling out of the diner, the radio murmuring in the background. They remain silent but that’s ok: Jisung is content to watch as Jaemin drives, his eyes trained on the road ahead, hands sure on the wheel, fingers tapping out a beat in time to the radio. They drive for five, ten, fifteen minutes. The world grows darker and the stars peek out from behind the curtain of night. Streetlights blur past, their light melting into the car and surrounding Jaemin in an artificial halo. He looks beautiful under the gaze of all light, Jisung notes.

 

Not wanting to be caught staring, Jisung leans his head against the door and watches the world rush past. Watches the street lights and the pedestrians and the hedges lining an all-too-familiar road. He frowns.

 

“Are we near my house?” he asks. When they pull onto Jisung’s road, he gets his answer.

 

Jaemin doesn’t park outside of Jisung’s house, but rather a few doors down. He takes the keys out of the ignition and the lights fade, plunging them into darkness. Jisung doesn’t make to leave the car: Jaemin’s fingers remain tapping on the wheel despite the radio having silenced, and it’s obvious he wants to say something.

 

“Have you ever thought about running away?” he speaks up after a while, fingers stilling and dropping to his lap. “Getting into a car and just driving out to the middle of nowhere and sitting in a place where time doesn’t matter for the rest of eternity?” Jaemin asks and images of the sunlight bleeding through a field of wheat flash through Jisung’s mind. He nods.

 

“I have, but eternity would get quite boring.”

 

“I guess,” Jaemin sighs. “You should come with me, then.”

 

“Why?” Jisung snorts. “Then it would be twice as boring.”

 

Jaemin shakes his head. “No, no. I think that I could brave eternity if you were there.”

 

Jisung’s insides explode like fireworks. Warmth fizzes through him as the words echo in his mind. He doesn’t let Jaemin see, though, and he’s sure that the darkness masks the blush quickly rising on his cheeks. So, he scrunches up his nose instead and lets out a pained sigh.

 

“Gross, hyung.”

 

Jaemin barks out a laugh and looks away. He starts tapping his knees again.

 

“My parents came along today,” he says.

 

“Is it their first time seeing you play?”

 

“Yeah,” Jaemin says and the tapping ceases in favour of clutching at his knee, knuckles turning white. Jisung reaches over and places a hand on top, feeling Jaemin relax at his touch. “They think it’s a waste of time.”

 

Jisung nods, but he could never understand. His parents aren’t like Jaemin’s. They don’t push expectations of medicine, don’t limit, because they never had limits themselves. They grew up in the 80s with newer and weirder and more alternative music, with an exploding fashion scene, with fast cars and grease and danger, and they embraced it. They write and they listen and they watch and when Jisung says he wants to do something they sit and cheer on the sidelines. He nods, but he knows he’ll never be able to comprehend just what exactly he’s nodding to.

 

“Is it a waste of time for you?” Jisung asks.

 

“No. Never.”

 

“Then what do they matter? You still get good grades. Better grades than I could ever get.”

 

Jaemin frowns. “Don’t say that, you’re clever.”

 

Jisung shrugs. “It’s true. Hyung, you’re amazing.

 

Jaemin snorts and looks at Jisung, but when he’s met with a poker face his smile fades.

 

“...I’m amazing.” Jaemin says.

 

“You’re amazing.”

 

“I’m amazing,” Jaemin repeats, slightly louder this time.

 

“You’re amazing!”

 

“I’m-” Jaemin shouts and Jisung jumps the space between them to cover his mouth. It’s the dead of night and Jisung lives in a quiet neighbourhood, and Jaemin is  _loud_. When Jisung pulls away, Jaemin giggles out a quiet ‘sorry’.

 

They lapse into silence and Jisung focuses on the clock on the dashboard of the car, blinking tiredly. He should really be getting inside.

 

“Thank you, baby.” Jaemin says as Jisung unbuckles his seat belt.

 

“Are you ever going to call me by my full name again?”

 

“What’s wrong with ‘baby’? I like ‘baby’.”

 

Jisung wrinkles his nose. “But I’m not a baby.”

 

“You’re _my_ baby,” Jaemin flirts and Jisung has to take in a deep breath and tell himself that Jaemin’s only teasing. It’s nothing more than teasing, and it never will be.

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“I try my best,” Jaemin laughs. Jisung rolls his eyes and opens the car door, stepping out into the cold. He shivers and looks back. “Get home safe!”

 

“I live  _right there_.” Jisung hisses and Jaemin grins, rolling up the car window.

 

It’s only when Jisung is inside and the door is locked and the lights are off, does he hear Jaemin’s car pull away. Jisung reaches for his phone.

 

Jisung: thanks for taking me back

Jaemin: <3

Jisung: don’t text and drive!!

Jaemin: :P

 

 

 

 

The thing that Jisung likes about writing, is that when he makes a mistake, he can just erase it. He can scribble it out, or hit the backspace button, or tippex it out if it gets that bad. In his mind, Jisung has endless do-overs. If a conversation tapers off, he can save it by rewinding. If he makes a mistake, he can just redo it and it’ll be as though it never happened.

 

When everything falls apart, Jisung has no do overs. He can’t rewind. He can’t pretend as though it never happened. There is no backspace button, no tippex for reality.

 

There’s no explanation for why Jisung kept writing Jaemin. It happened naturally, and though at some point he was aware of it, he kept going. That was his first mistake. His second was taking the notebook to school. His third was getting close enough to Jaemin that him reading the notebook was a danger.

 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They’d been messing around on the roof, throwing their backpacks at each other, their school books lying on the ground having been long since trodden on but none of them seemed to care. Jisung’s catapulting pens at Chenle while Donghyuck’s ripping out pages from his maths book to ball up and toss at Jeno and Renjun, when a teacher walked in on them and they all freeze.

  
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, looking between Chenle who looks ready to stab Jisung with his favourite pen, and Donghyuck who’s currently in the midst of decimating his maths book. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Just clean this up, please. And quieten down.”

 

The six of them sheepishly bow and stammer out apologies as she leaves the roof, slamming the door behind herself. The air around them is quiet and tense but then Chenle’s erupting in laughter and everyone’s following along.

 

“I never thought we’d end up being the school hooligans,” he says between snorts.

  
Jeno giggles. “Have you met Donghyuck?”

 

Donghyuck looks about ready to fight, but Renjun holds him back and fixes him with a stare.

 

“We should tidy,” Renjun tells Donghyuck, bending down in front of him to pointedly pick up his maths book, pushing it into Donghyuck’s unwilling hands. “You guys too!” Renjun swivels around, looking between Chenle and Jisung and the battlefield of pens on the floor.

 

“Yes, mother,” they all chant and Renjun scowls but chooses to ignore it: he can’t fight all five of them at once, and Jisung’s sure that he’ll bring this up in the future as ammunition.

 

Silence falls over the rooftop as they run around collecting pens and straightening out balled up sheets of paper. They work with diligence, and before lunch time has even ended, the rooftop is clear.

 

Just as they’re about to leave for their afternoon lessons, Jaemin stops just short of the door and bends down.

 

“Is this any of yours?” he asks, tossing something around in his hand. Jisung looks over and sees his notebook -  _his notebook_ \- in Jaemin’s hands.

 

For a second, Jisung laughs to himself, because that couldn’t possibly be his notebook! He was sure that he  _just_ put it in his backpack. Or did he even take it out of his backpack in the first place? Jisung can’t remember and suddenly he’s panicking because oh my god, that’s his notebook with it’s dog ears and broken spine, filled with thousands of words of falling in love - falling in love with  _Jaemin._

 

And for a second, Jisung thinks he imagines Jaemin flipping over the page and skimming the words.

 

And for a second, Jisung thinks that maybe this isn’t reality.

 

But Chenle lunges forward and rips the notebook out of Jaemin’s hand, tucking it under his arm and chastising Jaemin for reading something that isn’t his. But the look on Jaemin’s face says that it’s too late. His once smiling lips are pressed into a thin line and perhaps his sunlight skin looks a bit duller and he can’t meet Jisung’s eyes.

 

Chenle tugs on Jisung’s arm, and maybe he says something, Jisung doesn’t know. But he can’t stay here, not when Jaemin’s so obviously disgusted, not when he’s so ashamed of himself. So he does the only thing he’s ever known to do: he runs.

 

Pushing past Chenle, he ignores the confused shouts of Jeno and Donghyuck and bolts down the stairs. He almost trips multiple times and has to steady himself against the wall. Teachers curse and students gasp as he barrels past but there’s no stopping him.

 

Jisung’s always been a good runner. He has long legs; he’s athletic; he has determination. He’s always been good at running in the physical sense, but has always been better in the other sense. When it gets too much he runs to his notebook and writes. But he can’t do that anymore, he realises. He owes it to Jaemin. He owes it to himself.

 

 

 

 

(The year is 1979 and boys who wear the outfits their mothers choose for them and eat lunches she packs for them, don’t go out with boys who dress down in leather and grease and danger.

 

The year is 1979, full of fast cars and new music and everything brave and new and exciting. But it’s 1979 and the 80s are only a few months away and everything brave and new and exciting shall soon be yesterday’s news. So when Jaemin watches Jisung skate past from the hood of his car, Jisung knows that like the latest music, this too shall pass. When Jaemin winks at him from the stage in the diner, he knows that the fluttering feeling in his chest shall, too, pass. But it’s when Jaemin calls to him by name that everything Jisung knew, or thought he knew, crumbles, because how can Jaemin know him? But this is 1979, this is Jisung’s mind, and the world is full of endless possibilities and anything can happen.

 

The year is 1979 and boys who wear the outfits their mothers choose for them, and eat lunches she packs for them, don’t go out with boys who dress down in leather and grease and danger. But somehow, Jaemin breaks down everything Jisung once thought he knew. Or maybe Jisung writes it this way, because if Jisung can’t write himself hope, then what does he write for?

 

The year is 1979 and when Jaemin corners Jisung under the bleachers after school, something toxic blooms between them. It tastes of metal and cigarette smoke and feels like ice under the touch of warm fingers. It’s exciting and adrenaline-inducing and everything they were told never to do. But when Jaemin leans down and kisses Jisung, when Jisung gasps into the kiss and threads his fingers through Jaemin’s sandy hair, when he clutches onto Jaemin’s leather jacket, he can’t help but feel that this is everything he ever needed.

 

The year is 1979 and Jisung is hopelessly in love with Na Jaemin. But, in 1979, a love like theirs can never exist. As much as they wish, as much as they pray, as much as they try, as much as Jisung writes it in ink and onto paper and gives them hope and opportunities, in 1979, Na Jaemin can never be with Park Jisung.)

 

 

 

 

Jisung wonders if the nurse version of Jaemin in his head can mend broken hearts.

 

Jisung lays in bed, a sad song filtering softly through his speakers. He closes his eyes to picture the same scene he’s visualised a hundred times before: Jaemin in white scrubs, his hair darker and longer, voice deeper and heavier. It’s Jaemin, but at the same time, it’s  _not_ : Jisung never intended for it to  _be_ Jaemin, that was simply the way his mind worked. But in the end, the nurse is Jaemin, albeit different; more grown, more sure of himself.

 

(“And what seems to be the matter today?” the nurse asks, all smiles as he clings to the stethoscope hanging loose around his neck.

 

Jisung falters in front of him, because how do you ask the one who broke your heart if he was capable of fixing it? But the nurse - Jaemin - watches him with soft eyes, eager to help, eager to ease any pain. Jisung finds himself falling.

 

“Can you mend broken hearts?” he asks.

 

Jaemin stills and his face drops and suddenly the world around them grows hazy, as if about to dissolve into nothing at a moment’s notice. Just as everything is falling apart at the seams, Jaemin smiles and the fabric of time seems to mend, each thread seeking out the other to stitch itself back into a whole.

 

“Well, if I’m being honest, I’ve never tried. But there’s a first for everything. Let me have a look.”

 

Nurse Jaemin walks over to where Jisung’s seated on the edge of the bed. He bends down and he unwinds the stethoscope from around himself, motioning to Jisung to lift up his shirt. Jisung tentatively does so, looking away so as not to meet Jaemin’s eyes, when he suddenly feels the cold press of metal against his bare chest and thundering heart and the world feels like it’s melting away again, and-

 

“It’s beating fast,” Jaemin notes, pressing the stethoscope into Jisung’s skin even more. “But it sounds sad. Is it calling for someone, I wonder?”

 

Jisung shrugs as Jaemin pulls away, letting his shirt fall down. “Probably,” he says. “So, do you think you can fix it?”

 

Jaemin purses his lips in thought and then meets Jisung’s eyes. “Well-”)

 

Jisung’s phone vibrates on his desk and his eyes fly open. He makes no move for his phone, watching as the screen fades and the room is plunged back to black. He lays there for a few moments, basking in the background hum of cars and rustling of trees before closing his eyes, when his phone vibrates yet again.

 

This time Jisung rolls over to silence it, because he’s brooding, thank you very much, and he would like to do it  _silence._ At least he thinks so, because just as he’s about to switch his phone off, he gets another text, and the name ‘Na Jaemin’ flashing up on his screen has him reconsidering.

  
Jisung snatches the phone off the desk and takes a tumble to the floor. He doesn’t bother sitting up but instead lays there as he hastily unlocks it and opens the messenger app. Then, he closes his eyes. Call him cowardly, but he has no idea what he’s in for. There are only a few reasons why Jaemin would text him, and he can’t see any of them going well. Jisung mulls over the possibilities for a few minutes before tapping on Jaemin’s name: he’s had enough of fantasies, and possibilities, and what-ifs. He needs to face the reality he’s created for himself.

 

Jaemin: are you up?

Jaemin: i’m coming over to your place

Jaemin: i’m 5 mins away

 

Jisung turns off his phone and then turns it back on, tapping the screen impatiently in wait for the apple logo to vanish so he can open the messenger app again and confirm that, yes, this is real. He reads the messages over and over and lets them sink in.

 

The first thing that hits him is that Jaemin said he was five minutes away. That message was sent about three minutes ago, so Jaemin is actually around two minutes away. Jisung looks around his room and decides that they’ll have to brave the evening cold because there’s no way he’s letting Jaemin see his room the way it is.

 

The second thing that hits him is that Jaemin wants to talk, and though Jisung’s been ready for this moment since everything transpired, it doesn’t stop the nerves that flood through his veins or the lump that forms in his throat. He thinks he knows what he wants to say, how he wants to say it, and yet the thought of saying it in front of Jaemin has him balking.

 

Despite everything, he texts Jaemin back a small ‘ok’ and rummages through his cupboard for a jumper, throwing it on over his nightshirt because he doesn’t actually want to die outside.

 

Jisung’s house is old, and so with every moment there is the inevitable creak that has him wincing and pausing for a moment to make sure that everyone’s asleep. He manages to get out of his room and downstairs without anyone noticing, so slipping out the front door is easy. As he locks it behind him he sees Jaemin standing beneath the streetlight outside his house and he hesitates.

 

He thought he knew what he’d say but seeing Jaemin there, tapping his fingers against his side, nibbling his lower lip, everything flies from his mind. Jaemin hasn’t seen him yet, so Jisung could very well run back inside and have it over with, but that would mean leaving Jaemin hanging and Jisung could never abandon him like that. So, he tells himself that everything will be alright, and walks over.

 

Hearing his footsteps, Jaemin looks up. He drops his lip from between his teeth and puts his hands in the pockets of his coat, as if to stop himself from tapping. There’s an attempt at a smile, but it only wavers when Jisung doesn’t reciprocate it: how can he?

 

Jisung moves into the light towards Jaemin, who doesn’t take a step back. They’re about an arm’s length away from each other and Jisung wants nothing more than to step forward and close the gap but he has no right to. Instead, he speaks.

  
“I don’t know what to say,” Jisung admits. “I’ve been thinking of what to say and I’ve tried to come up with something and I just can’t.” He sucks in a breath and it’s shaky and the cold evening air burns his lungs and he just wants to be back inside in his room. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to hurt Jaemin anymore than he already has; he doesn’t want to hurt himself. But he knows that he has to do this. He owes it to himself, to Jaemin. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

 

Jaemin nods. “Then don’t lie.”

 

“Yeah, I wrote them. I never wrote them directly about you, but they always somehow managed to be about you,” Jisung confesses. The words spill from his lips and they don’t stop, as much as Jisung wants them to. They come in waves and drown him. This has to be done. “You were just always there, in the back of my mind. I think my writing knew I loved you before I even did, and that’s why…” Jisung trails off when he realises what he’s said, but he soldiers on. He furrows his eyebrows and looks Jaemin in the eye, trying his hardest to ignore the shock on his face. “That’s why they always ended up like you. I don’t think I can write about love without it being you. I know it’s weird. I’m sorry.”

 

Jisung’s been writing for so long that all of the unspoken words have bubbled up and out and perhaps there were things he would have kept under wraps given the chance to speak again, but he can’t take back time, and he doesn’t want to. What’s done is done, and words written in ink can’t be erased, so Jisung will march forward.

 

Jaemin bites his lip and shrugs. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird,” he says and Jisung’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He looks to the ground because he doesn’t want Jaemin to see his face when he cries, and he knows he’s going to, because his eyes are burning and his cheeks are flushed, and this is everything he never dreamed of, because who would want to hurt themselves like that?

 

“But if that’s weird, then I guess I’m a bit weird, too,” Jaemin continues and maybe that gave him a bit of hope, but Jisung still can’t bring himself to look up. “Look at me, Sungie, baby,” Jaemin says and it’s so soft that Jisung can’t help but be swayed. He looks up and Jaemin’s watching him with the tenderest of looks, eyes crinkled in mirth, lips pulled in a smile that isn’t blinding but warm. “If you’re weird, then I’m weird as well.”

 

“What do you-”

 

Jaemin rummages around in his pocket, pulling out a small notebook. It’s appears to look a lot newer than Jisung’s, looks as though it’s been cared for well. He hands it to Jisung and the expression on his face is suddenly more vulnerable.

 

“I- uh. They’re for the band,” Jaemin explains as Jisung starts to flip through the notebook, flipping past love song after love song after love song. “They’re for the band, but they’re all about you,” he confesses, and Jisung almost drops the notebook. “And I’m sorry, by the way. For reading your notebook without permission.”

  
“What?”

 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, it was wrong, but -”

 

Jisung shakes his head and the words die on Jaemin’s tongue.

 

“No, I meant- They’re about me?” he squeaks.

 

Jaemin takes in a deep breath and then locks eyes with Jisung.

 

“Yeah, they’re all about you,” he smiles and has the audacity to look sheepish, and Jisung doesn’t understand, because that should be him right now, what is Jaemin doing? “Uh, take a look at the last page,” Jaemin tells him and Jisung flicks to the back of the book, only to see a song titled: ‘Can I kiss you? (working title)’. Jisung skims through the lyrics.

 

“It’s not finished yet, but-”

 

“Is this a confession?” Jisung asks and immediately clamps a hand over his mouth. He’d thought it and it had just slipped out.

 

This time it’s Jaemin looking away and despite the lack of light, Jisung can see the beginnings of a blush dust his cheeks.

 

“Jaemin?” Jisung prods after Jaemin doesn’t say anything.

 

“So, can I?” Jaemin asks, finally facing Jisung.

 

“Can you what?”

 

“Can I kiss you?” Jaemin asks and the words are solid but Jaemin’s eyes waver. He looks nervous.

 

“That depends. Is this a confession?”

 

Jaemin smiles. “That depends. If I say yes, will you kiss me?”

 

Jisung’s had enough of dancing around, so he simply says, “yes.”

 

“Then yes, it is a confession. Can I kiss you now?”

 

Jisung nods and Jaemin doesn’t waste a moment, leaning down and kissing him. Jisung gasps into the kiss; it tastes of honey and strawberry lip balm and feels like fireworks under their skin. It’s exciting and adrenaline-inducing and everything he thought it would be. Jisung threads his fingers through Jaemin’s peachy hair, clutching onto his woollen jacket, and he can’t help but feel that this is everything he ever needed.

 

 

 

(The year is 1979 and they cannot be in love.

 

But in 2018, perhaps they can try.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


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